“And that shriek, Mayne!” cried the girl. “An Indian has fallen beneath the Lone Man’s rifle. Perhaps it was Tecumseh?”
“No, no, Eudora. Hewitt did not fire that shot. He sheds the blood of no fellow-man. If an Indian fell, it was beneath Oonalooska’s aim. Listen! That was the voice of Tecumseh.”
The conversation ceased, and in the silence that followed the lovers heard the second shot, that sent Nethoto to the earth.
“Another!” cried Eudora. “Where do the shots come from, Mayne?”
“From the top of a giant oak,” answered the young hunter. “Yon subterranean passage ends beneath the trunk of a great, hollow tree. Inside, steps lead to the top of the giant, from whence Oonalooska is smiting the red men.”
“What a singular man the hermit is!” cried Eudora, as the faint tones of the Wolf-Queen—faint to the cave listeners—came from the wood. “He is a mystery to the savages. Girty hates, but fears him, and, to Tecumseh, he is an enigma. I—”
“The third shot!” interrupted Mayne, and a minute later the giant hermit stepped into the cave.
“Our enemies are routed,” he said, bestowing a smile upon the lovers. “Beneath Oonalooska’s rifle fell two chiefs and Leperto.”
“Alaska’s wolf,” said Eudora, turning to Fairfax. “The poor woman will be inconsolable now.”
“Oonalooska wanted to shoot the queen, but I covered the flint with my hand in time to save her life. I could not witness the killing of that poor mad-woman, though if we ever fall into her hands we will receive no mercy.”